


In the moon the long road lies

by coyotegestalt



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:05:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotegestalt/pseuds/coyotegestalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the end of the final quest, the Stantons gather for another Christmas. Will has invited a guest to join them this year....</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the moon the long road lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magelette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magelette/gifts).



The platform at Euston was mobbed with the holiday crowds. Will loitered next to the base of a statue, hands in the pockets of his jacket, trying to stay out of the way while watching the crowd. He could hear a squeal of brakes as a train pulled in beyond them. 

After a time, he saw a pale head and dark glasses appear in a space in the crowd, Will stood on tiptoe and waved, and Bran made his way to the statue, a small knapsack over his shoulder. "Hallo, then," said Will. "That all your luggage?"

"It's you English who always feel the need for great trunks and boxes, I believe," replied Bran drily.

Will grinned. "Oh, it's good to see you again. I'm glad you could come down for the holidays."

"My da doesn't much approve of it all, High Church and such, but he approves of you, for some reason, so here I am." Belying his tone, Bran grinned and clasped Will's hand.

"Come on, then," said Will. "My father's bringing the car around in a bit, we'll be home for tea."

 

***

 

They talked a bit with Will's father on the ride home, but much of time time Will was only half-following the conversation, lost in his own head. It felt good to have Bran back in his life, but their conversations felt somehow shallower, now that Will alone carried an entire second level of memories of their friendship that Bran had given up in order to stay in the world.

He glanced over at Bran, who was watching out the window as the shops and offices of Slough rolled by. He carried an air of looking for something, but not knowing what it was. 

"Nadolig Hapus, Bran," Will said quietly.

Bran looked startled. "And a happy Christmas to you," he replied. "I take it you've been studying?"

"Just a bit," Will agreed.

"Your pronunciation is still terrible," Bran said, but smiling a little. 

 

***

 

Will and Bran sat together on the window-seat, watching a few stray flakes of snow drift by over the brown fields while the house filled with the smell of cooking. "You might have warned me about the liver," Bran commented. "I still would have come, you know."

"I know, I just didn't think of it," Will replied. "Besides, the look on your face is worth it."

"Oh," and Bran added, casually, "For your birthday." He handed Will a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.

Will felt a faint tingle in the back of his mind as he slipped off the paper. Pulling the last of it away, he found an old book bound in russet leather. As his fingers bushed the cover, a memory stirred in his mind, a memory from another Old One, now long gone over the sea. He breathed in, letting the scent of old paper bring with it what it might.

 

Will suddenly felt he could see a cozy room, lined with books. A desk sat beneath the single window, with a well-padded chair that was, for the moment, turned away from the desk to face the fireplace instead, along with another chair next to it. A teapot sat steaming on a small table alongside, and next to it the very book Will held in his hands. Framed maps bracketed the window and fireplace, along with a glass-fronted case of carefully labeled minerals.

An old man slowly entered, leaning on a cane. His curly white hair formed a fringe around his brown pate, and when he turned to speak to someone else not yet in the room, Will could see his deep brown eyes twinkling with hidden laughter. "Come in, old friend, and rest your bones. You'll see I had a feeling I'd be seeing you this day."

Will reflexively stifled a gasp as a familiar tall, lean figure strolled into the room as well. He could hear a smile in Merriman's voice as he replied, "Nothing much surprises you these days, Erasmus. How goes your study?"

To Will their voices seemed muffled, and he felt as though he saw the men through a light mist; he knew he was only seeing what once was, and was not truly back in the time the men were speaking, as he often had been before. He felt a pang, thinking again how far away Merriman and the other Old Ones were now.

"Oh, well enough, Lyon. I've just finished binding the volume of tales you asked for, to send off to Baron Sackville; I'm surprised a man like that is so interested in folklore." 

Merriman smiled. "I doubt that he is, but the book will be needed by others, later, and he's unlikely to mind a quiet addition to his collection, to keep it safe for a time." 

The old man smiled. "Ah, Lyon, you never could resist meddling. Now, come and have some tea...."

 

Will blinked, and came back to himself, realizing Bran had been watching him. He opened the book, finding a collection of legends of Wales and the West Country, and essays on connections between them. He smiled. "Thank you, Bran, this is wonderful."

"I found it in Machynlleth, and it seemed the sort of thing you like," Bran said.

Will searched his friend's eyes, but they gave away nothing.  

 

***

 

"Ho, here's a thing," cried Robin, knocking slush off his boots as he came into the crowded kitchen with the mail. "We've an invitation from Greythorne Manor. I didn't know old Miss Greythorne had had any family left."

"Robin, what are you doing opening the mail?" cried Barbara.

"Well, Father's busy with the shop, and I was curious," admitted Robin with a grin.

"Not so busy that I can't open my own mail, thank you." Robin jumped at the voice as their father came in just behind him, smiling. "But as it's open now, let's hear it."

Robin read, "Bertram Greythorne-West of Greythorne Manor invites you one and all to a traditional holiday cailey, an evening of music and merriment, at the Manor on the Eve of Christmas at Seven P. M. "  

"Traditional?" asked Paul with a smile. "In that we did it once?"

Will looked up from the corner of the table where he and Bran had been tasked with chopping vegetables by Will's mother. "I read somewhere that they used to have famous parties there for Christmas, long ago," he added.

"You and your old books!" cried Robin with a grin. "Oh, there's another note here, it's for Paul." This time, with his father's and twin's eyes on him, Robin handed it over.

Paul unfolded the paper & skimmed it briefly. "They'd like me to play the old flute Miss Greythorne loaned to me. I'd been wondering if they were going to ask for it back, but it seems not."

"Oh, that would be lovely," said Mrs. Stanton. "And if the weather holds, I'd better get to come hear you this time. And Will and James, you should offer to sing again, also."

James looked ready to protest, for form's sake, but Will knew full well his brother was flattered. James's voice had started settling into a fine, clear tenor in the past year, and Will suspected he would secretly love a chance to show off, especially if any of the girls from school were there for the party.

Will spoke up first. "We can make our usual caroling rounds a bit early, and end up at the Manor in time for the party, I imagine. Care to join us, Bran?"

Bran looked up from petting Ci, who had slipped under the table while the Stantons were distracted and put a shaggy head in Bran's lap. "Of course. Especially if Paul's to play, I could hardly miss that."

Will smiled, remembering the collection of beautiful old instruments at the Manor, and had a thought. "Dad, I can run by the Manor with our reply when I'm out later. It will save some time, rather than posting it back." Mr. Stanton raised a curious eyebrow at his volunteering, but distractedly nodded, as he was waylaid by Gwen passing him a sauce to taste.  

 

***

 

The hall was crowed as the whole family, Bran included, gathered to go out caroling. The radio announcer began telling them about the Buxtehude that had just finished, but Barbara switched it off as she wrapped up her scarf. Paul had his regular flute out, with the old Manor flute carefully wrapped inside his coat to protect it for playing indoors.

As the dogs sniffed around their feet, Max laughed. "They're shocked to see the whole mob of us off at once for a change." He reached down and gave them each a quick scratch behind the ears. "Sorry, you lot, I don't think you'd make a good chorus, and you'd be a bit underfoot later."

 

***

 

"Here we come a-wand'ring So fair to be seen..."

 

They all sang, even Max, as they came up to the door of the Manor. Before they could reach the bell-pull, however, the door swung open.

"Come in, and welcome!" cried the tailcoated man on the step. "Happy Christmas! Bert Greythorne-West, wonderful to meet you," he introduced himself and shook each of their hands in turn as they filed in. Tall and rangy, he wore Victorian dress achingly familiar to Will, even as they came into an entry hall that had been transformed since they saw it last.

Colorful lights glowed in wall fixtures, and green garland hung about the walls. Familiar folk of Hunterscombe stood about, glasses or steaming mugs in their hands. Through a door Will could see a small model train chugging around a track, surrounded by an enthralled gaggle of village children.

Jolly Mr. Hutton held court in one corner next to a fondue pot, telling some long and involved story involving himself. Mr. Greythorne-West, and an engineering company in London.

 

Bran donned his dark glasses, looking discomfited by the crowd. Will spotted his school chum Mike across the room by the banquette, and led Bran over to introduce him to a few folk their own age, James trailing after.

"A bit off, this," said Mike, after a while. "Who is he, coming in and taking over like this?"

Will grimaced. "I thought it was a little odd, too, at first," he said, glancing around. "But he means well, and you have to admit, it feels good to have everyone together once in a while. Here, have a biscuit." He passed Mike a tin from the neighboring table.

The rest of his family seemed to be overcoming their initial stiffness. Mary and Barbara had joined a group of their own school friends in another corner and were catching up on the local news. Max had gotten distracted by the paintings in the next room, and wandered slowly about, lost in thought, while Paul carefully warmed up his flute. Gwen and his parents stood chatting with neighbors. Robin was by the fire with Mr. Greythorne-West and a friend of his down from London, who had turned out to have something to do with turbines and whom Robin had latched onto ever since, gossiping about matters mechanical.

Will gestured around. "Everyone seems to be having a good time; I suppose we all just needed an excuse for it," he said with a grin.

 

Paul returned to the room and gestured, and Mr. Greythorne-West clapped his hands for attention. "When I took over this hall, there were a few provisos. One was that I keep the musical collection intact, and alive. So, we have asked Mr. Paul Stanton to play us a piece or two." Paul stepped up to an open space near the side door, standing next to a chair.

"Also, I am told we have another gifted musician visiting us this evening. In the storeroom we found another instrument..." He paused, and a pair of village boys dressed in Victorian footmen's livery for the evening came in rolling a small cart with a covered object. Pulling away the drape, they revealed a beautiful old concert harp. The harp's frame was carved with a maze of knotwork and twining leaves, and topped with the form of a sleeping hound. It gleamed quietly, newly polished and tuned.

"While I am loath to impose on a guest, I wondered if perhaps Mr. Davies would lend us a tune." Will held his breath, worried that Bran would be upset at being put on the spot. Bran, though, said nothing at first. He was rapt, stepping slowly towards the glowing harp. He paused. "It would be my pleasure, and thank you," he said quietly, and removed his dark glasses.

"To break their sleep and bid them ride..." Will whispered to himself.

Sitting down, he stroked the strings lightly, accustoming himself to their feel, and whispered briefly with Paul. After a moment, they began to play.

They began with _Nos galan_ , playing together for a verse, and after a time, Will joined in, with the Welsh lyrics he had found in an old songbook and suspected might be worth knowing someday; then they played it through again, faster, and Will began over with the English lyrics. James joined in after a moment, and one by one others around the room did, too, until the hall rang with song.

They played for some time, alternating first a Welsh tune, then an English one. Finally, they finished with Greensleeves, Paul's and Bran's notes twining around one another, and Will joined in, letting his voice be carried along by Bran's hands on the strings. He felt a warm buzzing in the back of his head, as though long-gone singers and players from the past ages of the hall were joining in for this last, familiar tune. At last, they came to the end of the tune, flushed and breathless, and stood in silence for a moment, before their friends and family broke into applause.

Will quietly extracted himself from the crowd and stepped back to watch. Paul and James were surrounded by admirers as usual, and he was pleased to see several people from the village walk up and congratulate Bran on his playing. After a time, he saw Bran slip out of the crowd and drift outside, as another group of teens turned up their guitars to play. Will let the shadows shelter him for a moment, and he found his way outside as well.

 

He found Bran sitting on a low stone wall, watching the stars. He sat beside his friend, quietly.

Bran reached out without looking and, carefully, took Will's hand. Will held it, gently. "So, _dewin_ ," Bran said. "What's next?"

Will smiled. "I suppose we'll find out."  

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Like the Stantons, I had the radio on attempting to listen to Christmas music through much of the writing of this story... and like them, it kept being drowned out by bursts of static. Fortunately, that seems to have been the end of the matter, and nobody seems likely to awaken to any new powers at the solstice.  
> This is my first serious attempt at long fic in many years; I hope it's all right. I know writing a specifically holiday-themed story for Yuletide is a bit of a cliché, but it seemed like the appropriate time for these two to get a second chance.


End file.
